


Five Drabbles

by windfallswest



Series: Woods and Waters Wild [8]
Category: Batman Beyond, DCU, Eastern Promises (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer after We Shadows.</p><p>Gotham and Blüdhaven: Summer 3513</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> Same screwy universe. Beta'd by the fabulous [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/).  
> 

__  
**Five Woods and Waters drabbles**   
  


  


**Double-drabble**

"Again."

Terry readjusts his grip on the bar. He aches. Sweat streams into his eyes. He feels like his arms are about to be pulled out if their sockets.

This is beyond ridiculous. The only reason Dana's even still speaking to him is no school almost counterbalances these insane extra hours. Doesn't anyone ever wonder what he _does_ here? Having had so much time on his hands before, now it's summer, Bruce has decided what he really needs is training. Terry's barely crawled in from patrol before it's time for work. Mid-afternoon, he sacks out in one of the spare bedrooms (to maintain the illusion of a normal work schedule. Heh). He makes plans with Dana in the early evening. And then it's night.

What's the point of all of this out-of-suit work? He swings once for momentum, then it's up and around the bar. Tactics and chemistry, sure; but the old man might as well tie a knotted rope to the cave ceiling. Jump lines are way obsolete. The suit's reflexes are better than Bruce's ever were. All Terry can think to chalk it up to is sadism. Hasn't Bruce realised yet he's not that easy to chase away?

  


**Drabble**

Bruce creaks awake in the morning and hobbles downstairs. He has the news over an omelette, toast, and coffee. The coffee comes with him when he goes to check his mail. Terry should be arriving soon.

He places his hand on the pad for the DSB to scan, checks his firewalls, and scrolls though his inbox. Partway down, he stops suddenly. The message reads one word, _Bruce_. The sender's address is affiliated with a prestigious performing arts academy.

Bruce is smiling wryly when Terry tramps into the study, carrying two cups of coffee. It seems someone, at least, has noticed.

  
**Double drabble**

Dana sighs and lets the sunshine drum into her skin. Terry's fingers creep shyly into hers. She'd say it's impossible to stay mad at him, except she thinks she's developing something ulcerish in her digestion.

"You look kind of mussed," she says, rolling toward him and opening her eyes. "Should I be jealous?"

"Not unless there's a bordello in the old man's attic. I was crawling around up there all day."

"How did he ever live without you?" She has to think hard to remember that far back.

"Oh, he's a feisty geezer."

Terry complains, but there's admiration in his voice. She's never met Wayne; she's not certain she's even seen him on live feed. He's been a recluse since before they were born.

She looked him up when Terry started working for him, and he's been called everything from shiftless to great-hearted and on to downright ruthless, pick your source and your week. Lately, _eccentric_ has been the favourite.

Dana tries to fit that with what's in Terry's tone. It's tempting to ascribe the discrepancy to overexcited reporters, except that sometimes she lies in the sun with Terry's hand in her and feels a gap stretching between their fingers.

  
**Drabble and three quarters?**

"You are in a good mood," Kirill observed from the doorway.

Nikolai grunted. It was true. A warm summer breeze wandered in through the open window of his office. He watched Kirill drift over to it. The setting sun transmuted Gotham's red sky to fire.

Some days, it was simply good not to be in prison. Today, Nikolai did not mind the scars or guards. Today was simply good.

"Have you perhaps seen that boy again?" Kirill asked slyly.

"No, Kirill."

"Then your mood is about to get better," Kirill predicted smugly, peering down out the window.

Nikolai's stomach flipped, shattering the inexplicable gentle peace that had been with him since morning. He spoke into the intercom.

Kirill passed Terry in the doorway, hips almost touching, thankfully closed mouth quite near Terry's ear.

His eyes flashed like knife blades. Nikolai stood.

"Come," he said, stepping around his desk. The night might begin with words, but Nikolai could see clearly where it would end: with lips and bruises and tangled sheets.

It would never be peaceful.

  


**Drabble and a quarter**

No, no, _hell_ no, not a complete flop, no, what the—? Oh, spam. The institute's system was too bug-riddled to support decent filtres. Dick took a break from portfolios and pulled up a news line. The Briar Patch was still causing an uproar in the news, but no one was getting footage. Alliance politics were as charming as ever. It was probably too much to ask for a plague in the Senate.

The holo-screen flashed and there was a brief glimpse of a figure with a red emblem emblazoned across its chest. The anchor continued to natter on over the clip.

Graceful as an elephant. Dick sniffed.

Perhaps he'd swing the troupe around to Gotham next tour. He heard the place was cleaning up lately.  



End file.
